


Mycroft in Fashion

by trillian_jdc



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Clothes, Fashion & Couture, Jewelry, Jumpers, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Morning After, Scarves, Silver Fox Greg Lestrade, Sock Suspenders, Suits, Tie Pins, Ties & Cravats, sleeve garters, stationery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc
Summary: A few thoughts about what Greg sees in Mycroft's clothes and how Mycroft thinks about his wardrobe. Each chapter can stand alone, as they take place at different points in their relationship.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 124
Kudos: 260
Collections: Mark Gatiss birthday collection 2020





	1. Mycroft's Ties

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MayhemHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayhemHeart/gifts).



Mycroft Holmes changes out his shirts and ties seasonally and yearly, just for a little something new, and so he’s always au courant. For example, this year, the spotted navy tie has dots, while last year, it was mini fleur-de-lis. The brown stripe in the tattersall country check shirt is now a bit lighter in tone, closer to caramel than chocolate for this fall. Switching also means everything fits perfectly at all times, so he’s confident in his appearance. The barely-worn extras, kept in beautiful condition, are given to a charity to help homeless men prepare for job interviews. 

He doesn’t expect anyone to notice what he wears. Who pays any attention to how he looks, beyond noting the idea of his proper, old-fashioned presentation? It’s just for him, a little bit of comfortable indulgence. 

Then, one evening, after Sherlock has stomped away, in light so dim he doesn’t even know how the man spotted the difference, Greg Lestrade leans in and peers more closely at his navy tie. “What happened to the one with the pointy arrow things? Liked it better. Always reminded me that there were people who didn’t think Brexit was a terrific idea.”

Mycroft goggles at the observation -- not only did Lestrade notice his tie, he sussed out the subtle jab behind it! -- before recovering his polite voice. “How observant, Detective Inspector. I had no idea you were interested in men’s fashion trends.” 

“Nah, ‘m not.” Greg raises his eyes to Mycroft’s and drops his voice. “But I’m interested in you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "pointy arrow things" are called fleur-de-lis, Greg. They look like this: 


	2. Mycroft's Weekend Wear

Greg knew their relationship had a more solid footing -- that both men had gotten past their individual fears stemming from histories of closing themselves off (Mycroft) and expecting rejection after every misunderstanding (Greg) -- when he was allowed to see what Mycroft wore on the weekend. 

Sure, they’d previously had dates on weekend days or nights, but both had dressed for them, subtly seeking to impress and present themselves in the best light. And then, as they kept getting together, the clothes weren’t as much a factor, items to wind up on the bedroom floor. 

It was one bright Saturday, with no plans but to keep spending time together, when Greg woke up late, in Mycroft’s bed. It wasn’t unusual for Mycroft to get up early; he was unable, sometimes, to shake off long habits of too many hours working. So Greg stretched, fetched the plaid bottoms he kept in “his” drawer, and padded downstairs to kiss his boyfriend good morning. 

He stopped still in the doorway. He had never seen Mycroft so… casual wasn’t exactly the word. He was wearing a striped cotton t-shirt with a ring neck and rugged dark jeans with the cuffs turned up. He looked … young. Playful. 

And then Greg realized. Mycroft was wearing what a little boy would have been dressed in, back when Mycroft was that age. Aside from his height, he looked like he’d stepped out of a mass-market catalog from 1978. Because of course, whatever he chose, he’d make the outfit perfect. 

Mycroft hadn’t seen him, with his back to the door and his hands occupied with tea and tablet. Greg wrapped his arms around himself in a kind of hug, because the emotion that swept over him threatened to swamp him. His posh partner, infamous for his control and presentation, finally felt comfortable enough around him to dress to his heart, recapturing his youth. 

A brief moment of wondering whether Mycroft had ever been able to be a kid back then swept through, a dark cloud on his sunny mental landscape. Greg shook it off. They’d maybe talk about that later, if Mycroft felt like it. Until then, Greg wanted to enjoy this timeless feeling of having a Saturday spread out before them with nothing to do but enjoy each other’s company. 

He stepped into the kitchen and reached his arms around Mycroft’s waist, hugging him close and burying his head in the taller man’s shoulder. “Mornin’, darlin’,” Greg whispered. “I love you.”


	3. Mycroft's Tie Pin

Mycroft stood in front of his dresser, a squarely solid antique topped with an old-fashioned shaving mirror, angled in a wooden frame, on top. He wouldn't look into it until he was finished, every piece assembled, all his accessories applied. He wanted the full effect, and he didn't need to spend much time seeing what he looked like. He was already too aware. 

He gently poked one long finger into the open leather box, sorting through the velvet-lined compartments until he found the exact tie pin he was looking for. Gold would be inappropriate with his three-piece charcoal pinstripe suit; he needed the spiky platinum clip. It was thin and elegant but still carried a small chip of ruby. 

As he held it prior to putting it on, Mycroft thought about its history. It was an inheritance, obviously; he himself would never be able to receive a gift signifying a 40-year anniversary, but the older generations had married younger and retired earlier. Stability was their watchword; instead of moving through different positions and partners, they bowed to family expectations to choose early, pair up, and settle down. At least his parents had resisted that particular set of pressures, regardless of the other stresses they'd placed on him. 

As he was mulling over the memories and implications held by the various treasures he'd been touching, Greg stole up behind him and put his arms around his waist. Resting his chin on Mycroft's shoulder, Greg asked, with a grin in his voice, "Decorating again? You're a secret peacock, you know. Maybe a magpie." 

Mycroft simply hummed his acknowledgment of Greg's presence. His partner continued, nodding at the jewelry in his hand, "Isn't that unnecessary? Your waistcoat keeps your tie tucked in and held down." 

"You sly fox. You pay more attention to all this than you let on," Mycroft answered, as one hand stole down to rest on top of Greg's, clasped around him. "Few people know that, or bother to reason it out." Mycroft paused for a moment, gathering himself to be honest. "My finishing touches were the only thing that made me feel attractive ... before you. You've been immensely restorative to my ego." 

Greg squeezed Mycroft lightly, rewarding his candor, before Mycroft turned in Greg's arms to face him. "My popinjay tendencies aside, there are a surprising number of purposes an otherwise inconsequential accessory might serve. Miniaturization of technology has achieved impressive accomplishments." 

Greg reared back, faking shock. "You mean all this time I could have had you tracked?" 

"Not with this family antique. This is simply a reminder of the lasting power of affection." 

"Perfect choice, then. You can tell me about it over our anniversary dinner tonight." As Greg leaned forward, Mycroft expected a kiss. The peck on his nose bestowed instead brought out giggles, and soon both men were laughing as they hugged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to [aleclestrade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meddowstaylor/pseuds/aleclestrade) for inspiring this chapter with a well-timed observation.


	4. Mycroft's Jumper

It was early days, still. Greg occupied himself in spare moments by wondering what might happen during their first sleepover, or where it might take place, or even who'd suggest it. In the meantime, they had dinners, and sometimes drinks together, and the very occasional kiss the few times Mycroft had been sure they'd had complete privacy. Those had mostly been in his office at his club, which was staid and quiet and not entirely conducive to more. 

There was no rush. They were both adults, so they had lives, and other people who might feel a need to comment (well, one of those in particular that they were avoiding as long as possible). No need to rush something that could be very good indeed, with patience and consideration. Greg enjoyed the fizzy feeling of optimistic uncertainty about what more might be to come, assuming they continued getting on together. It was nice having something positive to look forward to, whenever it happened. 

Those few prior times they'd embraced, Mycroft had felt good in his arms. Solid. Substantial. Buttoned-up, of course, and layered. The man suited his clothes, and vice versa. 

Now, they were going out together on a weekend. For lunch, and a visit to a new garden exhibit, which was really just an excuse to walk and chat. The weather seemed promising, and they were both all right with taking things slowly. Greg wondered just how Mycroft would be in a casual outdoor setting. 

He rang the doorbell of Mycroft's flat, just a few minutes before their scheduled meeting time. Mycroft opened the door, wearing a pumpkin-colored v-neck jumper and dark brown corduroy trousers. That shade of orange really shouldn't work on someone with his coloring, but it was lovely, seasonal and comfortable-looking. 

Mycroft greeted him, smiling, and beginning to speak, but Greg, wide-eyed, had to touch, wrapping his hands gently around the sides of Mycroft's waist, feeling the soft knit under his fingers. Then he had to taste, nibbling at the notch of Mycroft's neck where just a tuft of auburn hair appeared. Mycroft's voice died in his throat as he stretched his neck, welcoming the contact, and pulled Greg closer. 

The two men backed into the flat. Greg nudged the door closed behind them with his hip, then set to tasting Mycroft with determination. The garden visit was long forgotten, and the jumper didn't stay on long. It looked just as nice on the floor the next morning, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the [picture of the outfit](https://johannadc.tumblr.com/post/631525574488260609/mycroft-in-fashion-chapter-4-trillianjdc) that inspired this chapter. 


	5. Mycroft's Sleeve Garters

Greg slowly opened his eyes and stretched, reaching his toes under the covers towards the opposite corner of the large bed. The sun showed weakly through the window. It was early, but Mycroft was already up and mostly dressed, and Greg had to get himself home before going into work. 

As he watched his ... date? friend with benefits? from the snowy pillow, eyes half-lidded, Mycroft turned from his dresser and smiled shyly at him. He had on dark charcoal trousers, a crisp white shirt fastened at the wrists with onyx cufflinks, and a waistcoat with a silky back. Greg's fingers itched to touch. The similar one he'd discovered last night had felt so smooth against his rough hands. 

The matching suit jacket hung on the wooden valet next to the chest of drawers. Around Mycroft's arms, just above his elbows, were thin rings of dark red. 

Greg grinned back at Mycroft. "Full armor, today, izzit?"

No one else would likely have noticed the brief quizzical expression that flashed across Mycroft's face as he fully turned around. Greg was beginning to pick up on these quick glimpses behind the usually stoic facade. Each discovery made him want to learn more. 

As Mycroft came closer, to sit beside the silver-haired, bare-chested man sprawled in his sheets, he said, "This is my usual outfit, Gregory." He gently reached out a hand to Greg's shoulder, stroking lightly down his arm. Greg tangled their fingers together when their hands met. 

"What's that then?" Greg responded, nodding towards the sleeve garters. "Your shirts are custom-tailored, they have to be. What'd'ya need adjustments for?" 

Mycroft looked away, a slight pink tinting his cheeks. "Is it such a bad thing to want a little color in my outfit?" 

"Nah, darlin', nothing wrong with that." Greg let go of his hand so he could snake his arms around Mycroft's waist, snuggling in. "If you wanna coordinate your tie, your pocket squares, and your ... nah, I can't say it." He broke the hold so he could roll onto his back, laughing. He could feel the glare aimed at him, even with his eyes closed. 

"'m not laughing at you, Mycroft," he gasped out. "Just never dreamed I'd be so happy to be with someone so precious." 

Mycroft moved to stand up, frowning. He still wouldn't meet Greg's eyes.

"Hey, hey, there." Greg quickly rolled onto his knees, sheets pooled around his waist, and grabbed Mycroft from behind, hands clasped around the sleeve garters. "Don't mind me. 'm just being a pillock." 

Greg rested his head on Mycroft's shoulder, brushing his lips against Mycroft's neck. He felt Mycroft relax a bit. Greg tightened his grip around Mycroft's arms, and Mycroft calmed further. 

"Aha! Think I've discovered something!" Greg chuckled.

Mycroft shook off his hands so he could turn and face the troublemaker in his bed. Then he brought his hands up to cup Greg's face before kissing him deeply. After their lips parted, he murmured, "You, my dear, are far more clever than you make yourself out to be." 

Greg fell back onto the pillows, smiling cheekily at the fussy man he had grown to care about, as Mycroft continued. "You bring color to my life. There was little of that before you took a chance. And my sleeve garters -- go ahead and laugh -- provide a grip that calms me. Although your hands are even better."

Mycroft leaned forward, brushing a kiss against Greg's forehead, before standing again. "Now, much as I appreciate the scenery, I'm afraid it's necessary..." 

Greg cut him off. "Yeah, I should get going. I'm too old to show up at work in last night's shirt. I work with detectives, they might notice." He scanned the floor, looking for his pants. 

As Mycroft dropped them onto the bed, he said, "I could always loan you something..."

"Appreciated, but think they'd notice that even quicker, and wonder why I suddenly own cufflinks." Greg wriggled into the pants and spotted his shirt, tossed over a chair in the corner. He swung his bare legs out of the bed and headed towards it. 

Mycroft was putting on his jacket. "Mmm, a project. How gradually can I adjust up your wardrobe?" 

Greg stopped still. It was early days, but better to set his boundaries now. He changed course to be closer to Mycroft when he said, low-voiced, "Don't get your hopes up, darlin'. You can play clotheshorse all you want, and I'm happy with it, but 'm not your dress-up doll." 

Mycroft spun towards him, projecting dismay, his hands still on his own lapels. "Oh, Gregory, no. You are exactly what you need to be. Forgive me for causing you to think otherwise. I need all this," he gestured to himself, "but you are an objectively beautiful man, and that should be honored." 

Greg watched Mycroft cast an observing eye over him. He was mostly naked, but he wasn't afraid to stand up to him, and Mycroft saw it. Sometimes the Holmes boys needed a firm hand and clear boundaries. 

Mycroft continued, "I shall say no more about it." 

Greg rewarded him with a smile as he shrugged into his rumpled shirt. "We'll work it out. Hope this won't be the only time we get dressed together."

"Far from it, I presume. Now, you finish up, and I'll call the car."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this has gone beyond drabbles, hasn't it? I thought this was going to be short, and it kept going. Rating raised to T with this chapter, just for the implications of Greg naked in Mycroft's bed. 
> 
> For [Phoenixrising2014](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenixrising2014), who really wanted to see the [sleeve garters](https://johannadc.tumblr.com/post/631963323232141312/mycrofts-sleeve-garters).


	6. Sherlock's Scarf

Sherlock's scarf had ended its useful life at a crime scene, of course. Better not to ask what had stained it, because it would only bring forth a litany of bodily fluids, and while John and Sherlock found that kind of catalog worth a giggle, Mycroft didn't want to waste his time or spoil his supper. 

He'd asked his assistant to source a replacement, as close in color and style and most important, fabric, as possible. Sherlock was so picky about what touched his skin. 

She had returned with a beautifully boxed example she said was of fine cashmere, soft and floaty to the touch, and in a matching shade of royal blue. That was important, as Mycroft had selected the original scarf, years ago, and he wanted to maintain the tradition. He sniffed at his own sentiment, but indulged it nonetheless.

Mycroft dropped by Baker Street on his way home with the package. Getting an excuse to check on his little brother was an extra benefit. Sherlock sniffed with disdain, when presented with the box, but eagerly dug into its contents. He held the scarf up, assessing it. 

"Where are the ends, Mycroft?" 

Internally, Mycroft cringed, just a little. He should have questioned his assistant more closely. No matter how vocal Sherlock was about his skills and his technology, Mycroft knew he hated change. He'd have her continue looking for a better match. Then he could replace it without Sherlock seeing and have the fun of watching his reaction. 

John piped up, thankfully. "It's the right color, who cares about the ends? Now you won't have to do that loopy thing." 

"The _loopy_ thing, John?" 

"You know, that thing with your hands." John waved his hands about his neck, briefly, trying to mimic the procedure before giving it up as a bad go. "Never mind. It's called an infinity scarf, Sherlock.” 

"This is a knitted circle. A circle is not infinite! A circle is a recognized geometric figure.” 

“Just put it over your head. This way it won’t come off.” As John instructed Sherlock, Mycroft kept his face carefully still. He knew why Sherlock was pouting. Putting on the scarf, over his head, he might risk disarranging his curls. 

Sherlock continued protesting, “But I want it to come off! The strangulation risk can be high!" He whirled to face Mycroft, looking at him suspiciously, eyes narrowed and fingers clenched in the fabric. "You're trying to get me killed." 

"Really, brother dear? Are you expecting me to confess that you have deduced my clever plan to eliminate you with knitwear? This is a low bar in gratitude, even for you." 

Again, John broke in to innately play peacemaker. "Don't be a berk, Sherlock. It's a lovely gift, and fast, too. You won't even have to go a night without. In case there's a case later."

Mycroft rose to his feet. The entertainment value would decrease precipitously from here in, as the two would flirt without realizing it. As he made his way back down the stairs, he heard one last cry from the sitting room as the door closed behind him. 

"And what of the fringe, John? The fringe!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a digression from the series, as Greg doesn't appear in this one, but I couldn't resist a stroppy Sherlock. The boy really ought to learn to say thank you. 
> 
> Here's Sherlock doing the loopy thing:  
> 
> 
> Oh! And I forgot to mention that I flipped the first two [Inksolation 8](https://bluebellofbakerstreet.tumblr.com/post/633607963489304576/heres-a-prompt-for-every-day-in-november-no) prompts, and this one works for "Endless".


	7. Mycroft's Wallet

Greg was surprised to have been invited to the cocktail party. It was a fundraiser for early childhood education, and his boss couldn't make it, so the request for a Scotland Yard presence got passed down to him. At least it was an open bar, although Greg would hold himself to only a few drinks. Not a good idea to get squiffy at a posh work event, even if the pretense was social. 

After circling the floor, making small talk and his presence visible, he had tucked himself into a corner of the bar. He was working on his second scotch, waiting for enough time to pass that he could depart, when he noticed Mycroft Holmes at the other end of the bar. Hmmm, the night might have just gotten more appealing. At least the scenery was attractive, with Mycroft, in one of his classic three-piece suits, looking particularly elegant. 

Mycroft was chatting with the bartender, an undistinguished woman who handled requests quickly and with a minimum of motion, clearly a long-time professional. He had pulled a large bifold wallet from his internal jacket pocket. His long fingers were selecting some notes to offer to the bartender, accompanied by a tight, polished smile. She thanked him for the tip and moved away. That probably meant the event was wrapping up, meaning Greg could prepare to head home. 

Maybe just one more conversation first. He took a final swallow from his glass, then sauntered closer to Mycroft. "Hello, Mr. Holmes. Didn't expect to see you here." 

"Good evening, Detective Inspector Lestrade. It would be remiss of me not to be. As you've most likely observed, I am technically the host." Mycroft refolded the wallet and placed it back inside his suit coat. After a brief glimpse towards Greg, sweeping his eyes up his form and taking in, Greg was sure, every detail of his attitude and intent, Mycroft stared across the bar into the glassware. 

Greg nodded towards it. "Didn't think a bloke like you needed to carry money." 

"I find a well-timed gratuity eases the way in many interactions." Mycroft paused, then ghosted a small smile across his face. "And Sherlock does enjoy the challenge from time to time. He also thinks I don't notice which card is missing when I provide more options for him to choose from." 

An etched crystal wineglass had been placed at Mycroft's elbow. He lifted, examined the deep color of the contents, and sipped delicately. 

Greg searched for safe ground on which to continue the conversation. He hadn't had much of a chance to socialize with the older Holmes brother, and he thought he'd take the chance. Mycroft had always struck him as someone useful, but more importantly, intriguing to know. "Thoughtful of you, then. And this effort. 's a good cause, improving education." 

"Rather. The family has traditionally supported efforts to encourage knowledge-gathering and smarter thinking. I prefer to do it with funding, while my brother thinks shouting at people will improve their inclination to learn." 

Greg snickered. Mycroft was in a rare mood this evening. He'd never heard the buttoned-up diplomat be so dry. 

"Did you enjoy the evening, then?" Greg asked.

Greg wasn't very familiar with Mycroft's expressions, but he'd characterize that brief flicker as a grimace. "As much as ever. My function here is primarily to pay for things and remind others to contribute, and I have satisfied that role. When every conversation revolves around money, one cannot say it is particularly rewarding." 

Mycroft took another, larger sip of wine and continued. "But why should this event be any different? Few people want to talk to me for any length of time. However, I am, as they say, comfortably well-off, and I'm happy to support well-meaning events like this, which gives people a reason to tolerate my presence for longer." Mycroft raised his eyes to Greg's for the first time. "Please don't feel any further obligation." 

Greg fell quiet. He wasn't sure what to do with Mycroft's oddly rare self-denigration, but he couldn't let him continue with that wrong impression. "It's not a requirement on my part, Mycroft. I like talking with you. Told you, you're interesting. I'd like to talk about other things, just not sure where to start. Not exactly like we're down the pub with the footy on." 

The grimace was definitely there this time as Mycroft finished his glass. "Not my preferred milieu, no."

Greg realized part of the problem. "The nibbles were pretty, but not very substantial. Think you need a meal. Want to get a burger with me? We can gossip about the guests. Some of the couples I've met were quite the pair." 

Mycroft again gave him the slow eye sweep, this time lingering on Greg's face. Crinkles appeared between his eyebrows as they drew together. "You mean it, don't you?"

"Course I do. You've done a standout job here, helping others, so give yourself a little treat. You look like you need a little taking care of." 

Mycroft snorted, faintly. "What an extraordinary thing to hear. When one has been exceedingly competent all one's life, no one ever thinks that might be the case. But that's what makes you exceptional, Detective Inspector. You recognize the need for caretaking, and you are particularly good at it." 

"That a yes, then?" Greg smiled, to make his invite more appealing. 

Mycroft finally smiled back. "Certainly. And perhaps we can discuss the subject of learning to take a compliment." The two men left the bar, chatting about which burger bar was closest and best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wallet. 
> 
> Greg at the bar. 


	8. Mycroft's Sock Garters

It was always awkward, undressing in front of someone. Particularly when one of the people undressing wore more layers and accessories than most. Greg didn't mind that he always finished first. Even if he wasn't wearing half as many clothes as Mycroft, he suspected that his willingness to just drop things on the floor would have gotten him done earlier. 

Mycroft put his things away carefully, even when he might be putting them back on in a few hours. Greg hadn't yet figured out how he seemed to always find a proper hanger for his suit, although he acknowledged a safe resting place was a good idea for antique cufflinks or a tie pin that Greg didn't trust to behave itself. 

(The first few times, they were remarkably eager for men of their age, and thank god they could laugh at how they got tangled up together, particularly when Greg pricked his thumb on the pin, as though he was some ridiculous fairy tale princess. Although when Mycroft put his mouth to the wound, sucking gently against the pad of his thumb and soothing the area with his tongue, it didn't seem so ridiculous.) 

Mycroft considered the disrobing process, as he put it, part of foreplay, anyway, a conscious baring of himself to Greg's eyes. Or hands. Or tongue. Because how long was he supposed to be patient? 

Tonight, Mycroft had gotten the suit and tie off but was still in his shirt, slowly unbuttoning. As Greg leaned back on the bed, he ran his eyes down Mycroft's long, lean body until he got to his calves. He tried to stop from giggling at those strappy things that wrapped around his leg and held up his dark socks. Greg had seen suspenders on women, of course -- everyone younger seemed to go through a phase of fancy underwear, before it became too much trouble. Mycroft never minded taking trouble, though. 

Greg suspected that Mycroft wasn't putting them on as a tease. He looked closer and noted that they seemed to actually be functional, as the tops of the socks were gapping a bit around his calves. Maybe it was just that the man had legs like a greyhound. Greg smiled to himself at the thought, happy that he was one of very few people to know that. 

"Mycroft, what's the matter with your socks?" 

Mycroft looked down at his feet, puzzled. "My socks are fine, Gregory." 

"Why's'at holding them up, then?" Greg rolled onto his stomach, propping his head up, chin in one hand. 

Mycroft turned towards him, eyes covering his body and lingering on his arse, then looked away. 

"Oh, come on, sweetheart," Greg teased. "Tell me another of your secrets. If I can't know about work, at least there's your clothes." 

"Very well," Mycroft replied, as he smiled fondly at the happy naked man on the bed and kept unbuttoning. "Sock suspenders are necessary when one's hosiery doesn't have elastic at the hems to keep them up." 

"Who makes socks like that these days?" 

Mycroft coughed and hung up his shirt before crossing to the bed, wearing nothing but his boxers and socks. "My father. He took up knitting but hasn't mastered handling the stretchable material." 

"That's adorable! Bravo for him." Greg smiled up at Mycroft. "Give 'em here, then." 

Mycroft lifted a foot, and Greg ran his fingers up and down the back of his leg before sliding them under the garter and lifting it off the pale, creamy skin underneath. He moved the elastic strap down, over the calf, and dropped it to the ankle, lightly teasing his fingers down the leg and pushing the sock and suspender off Mycroft's foot. 

Mycroft shivered and narrowed his eyes. Greg grinned and made gimme fingers at the other foot as Mycroft switched which leg he was standing on. Greg repeated the process, this time running his hands up and down the back of Mycroft's leg multiple times, until Mycroft finally cracked, choking out a laugh before pouncing on Greg. 

"Ticklish, mmm?" Greg managed to ask, before Mycroft's long, elegant fingers found his ribs and began his own teasing. Laughing, Greg rolled them over on the bed, grabbing for and pinning Mycroft's hands over his head before leaning down for a deep, comfortable, welcome kiss. 

All thoughts of socks were forgotten, until much later, when Greg, scrabbling for his vest for a quick clean-up, found one of Mycroft's socks on the floor. He pulled it onto his hand and gave it a voice, creating a foul-mouthed hand puppet that made Mycroft laugh hysterically. It kept complimenting Mycroft in filthy ways, and pretending to nibble at various body parts, until Mycroft buried his face in his hands and muttered about how he was never going to be able to face his father again, particularly when it came to his gifts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you'd like to see how I envision them:


	9. Mycroft's Christmas Suit

Greg, as usual, had no idea what he was going to wear to meet the Holmes parents. Hell, he didn't know there were parents until John had mentioned, much later, meeting them while he and Sherlock were still finding their way after. 

(That preposition never had anything follow it. Everyone important knew it mean after Sherlock's return. Greg and John were too good at being British for him to pry into it further. When they got together, they enjoyed wallowing in normality at the pub, as a break from Holmesian company, which meant discussing the football or complaining about politics.) 

Of course, he knew the Holmes brothers had to have been born. The ideas of aliens or clones or some kind of odd experiment were just too ridiculous. The things that happened to them, though... Right. Parents. Still living. And wanting to meet him. For Christmas drinks. Tonight, downstairs. 

John had described them as a surprisingly normal couple, although Mummy could be a bit overbearing. Greg knew that Mycroft had his own issues with them, what with being blamed for anything and everything that went wrong in the family. 

Anyway, he had to focus on the task at hand, much as he'd rather be thinking about other things. This was important to Mycroft, who could be rather old-fashioned in his courting at times. Meeting the parents was a signifier, a sign that their relationship was to be taken seriously. Particularly at the holidays. Even if Greg could give a toss about whether they liked him or not. 

They'd better be happy for Mycroft, though. Greg wasn't going to put up with any insinuations about how Mycroft could have done better or about him doing anything wrong. As far as Greg was concerned, he was the lucky one. Even if he couldn't figure out what to wear. What kind of outfit said "I'm willing to be respectful but I'm here to protect your son so don't you dare"? 

Mycroft would probably know exactly what shade of burgundy conveyed that message, which was why Greg was rummaging through his closet. Well, dressing room. Any area that held this many clothes, complete with bench in the middle, qualified as a room in his mind. What was the furniture doing here anyway? There in case you got so tired looking at shirt options you needed a rest? 

Mycroft had invited him to browse his suits and shirts, "in case," he'd said, "inspiration struck. Of course, you're welcome to borrow anything you'd like," he'd continued. "I rather enjoy the idea of you in my clothes." And then Mycroft had looked at him in that particularly direct way and they'd stopped talking for a bit in favor of taking some items off. 

It was more fun with Mycroft there, although it took longer to accomplish the goal. Mycroft had taken himself off when his phone rang, leaving Greg to feel overwhelmed by the various patterns and fabrics and colors. He'd seen men's shops with fewer choices. 

He'd better get started. While waiting for Mycroft to return, Greg began at one end and systematically looked at each item in turn. He'd made his way all the way down one side of the room, reaching a far back corner, when he found a light olive jacket and waistcoat, with a slight red accent line running through, hung with deep forest green corduroy trousers. They weren't for him, but he thought Mycroft would look dashing in them for a weekend outing. Particularly once he saw the electric blue backing the waistcoat. Typical Mycroft, with his surprising flashes of peacocking, there for himself only. 

He pulled the pieces out and laid them on the bench, ready to ask Mycroft about them. Hunh. Maybe it did have a purpose.

Just then, Mycroft came back into the closet. "Greg, have you gotten any ideas? I was thinking..." came out before he stuttered to a stop, his eyes falling on the suit. Greg heard Mycroft swallow. 

"How come I've never seen this one? I bet it's gorgeous on you." 

"Well. You have a good eye. That used to be one of my favorites. I couldn't bear to get rid of it, but I can't envision putting it on now. Not after what happened when last I wore it." 

Greg stepped close and put his arm around Mycroft's waist, there as support. "D'you want to tell me about it, or put it away and pretend it never happened?" 

"Oh, no, I think there's been quite enough of that. It's embarrassing, though, hanging on to clothing I won’t wear out of sentiment."

Greg chuckled. "You've got the space for it, sweetheart." He hung the suit back up, near them, and sat down, patting the space beside him. "C'mon, tell me if you want." 

Mycroft settled in, facing away but leaning back into Greg, who put his arm around him, holding him close. 

"You'll need to keep this sub rosa, Gregory, because what I am going to share with you is still a national secret." Greg hummed his agreement before Mycroft continued. "I'm not sure you remember how things were before Moriarty's nationwide broadcast. If you'll forgive me being direct, Sherlock had killed a man for John and Mary Watson, and he was about to be exiled to what I believed would be his certain death. That suit is what I was wearing when I was too late to stop the murder but there in time to witness it." 

Greg could feel Mycroft starting to shake. He shifted on the bench so he could fully hug him, pulling him back against his chest and wrapping his arms around him as he closed his eyes. "Oh, darlin'. What he's put you though." 

"I owe you great thanks, Gregory. Without you, there would be no point to Christmas at all. The only positive memories I have of the holidays as an adult are due to you." 

"Aw, it's been fun. Making memories together. And this is only our second. I wish I could have been there for you earlier. They asked so much of you sometimes." 

"Mmmm. We've been through a lot, thanks to my brother. Although I am thankful that it finally brought us here, to our current association." 

"Association?” Greg barked out a laugh. “’S not a lodge meeting, sweetheart.” He squeezed Mycroft closer for a moment, earning an "ooof" from his partner. 

Greg continued. "You're not the only one, y'know. You're there for me, too. You know how I get about the divorce, sometimes. It's all turned out much for the best, but I still remember the feeling of failure." 

"Shall we both say 'Bah, humbug,' then, and lock ourselves away for Christmas?" Mycroft seemed to be feeling better, if he could tease about their moping. He turned in Greg's arms, looking up into his luminous brown eyes as he stretched back across Greg's lap. 

Greg hoped his kiss would answer for him. A long, unhurried moment of enjoyment followed. He finally broke away, his practicality reasserting itself. 

"Alright. Y'know I'll always be there for you. Still gotta find me something to wear." 

"I think charcoal slacks and your green v-neck jumper will be suitable, my dear." 

"If you already had that picked out for me, then why send me in here?" Greg frowned at Mycroft, but the fondness in his gaze took out the sting. 

Mycroft looked away, although his fingers lightly brushed up and down Greg's forearm, maintaining their connection. "Sometimes you find my clothes arousing. I thought it might be enjoyable to ... make a new memory before imposing upon your goodwill with my parents." 

"Mycroft Holmes! You want to show up for drinks freshly shagged? You devil!" Greg had fun pretending to be shocked and appalled. And he knew it made Mycroft feel better. He always enjoyed feeling daring, given how few chances he'd had to be this playful in the past. 

"Of course we'd shower first. Or simultaneously. The option is yours." Mycroft had obviously recovered his equanimity, Greg thought, with that kind of offer. Good. He didn't want him dwelling on what couldn't be changed. 

"Hmmmm." Greg pretended to think it over. "You don't have to, if you don't want to, but I'd love to see this suit sometime. Maybe if we take a weekend in the country?" 

Mycroft paused, then quietly said, "I'll wear it tonight, if you like. Family holiday gatherings are casual enough." 

"Ta. A new chance for new memories. I want to run my hands over that blue silk against your back after." 

Mycroft shivered. "That sounds delicious. Such a shame that propriety demands we spend at least an hour with my family in order to be good hosts." 

Greg grinned. "At least you've got me for security. I'll rush them out the door whenever you say." 

Mycroft looked up at him before pulling him down to kiss him again. "You're a rogue. Don't tempt me. Now, how would you like to spend the time we have before our guests arrive?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With many thanks to MayhemHeart for their patience. They wanted more Mycroft, with the Christmas suit, in response to their bid for the 2020 Mark Gatiss birthday auction. At least the delay allowed me to be vaguely seasonal.
> 
> If you're not familiar, here's the outfit: 


	10. Mycroft's Stationery

It began, as these things do, as an office joke. The sergeants had always talked behind Lestrade's back, calling him a "silver fox" when they were alternately amused or fed up by the younger staff's adoration of the Detective Inspector's warm heart, wide smile, good looks, and dashing salt-and-pepper hair. 

Then he settled down, and although it took some time, everyone gradually became comfortable with the idea that for whatever reason, he and Mycroft Holmes were good for each other. Mycroft was foxy, too, although for very different reasons. Although no one was entirely sure exactly what Mycroft did, there was a feeling that those secret squirrels couldn't always be trusted. And those Holmeses were always a step ahead, when they weren't on an entirely different planet. Mycroft was a fox for being crafty and never being caught. 

But the long-timers got used to seeing Mycroft in the shadows at the back of the room during important meetings for Greg, press conferences and the like. And he was professionally charming at the office parties, inquiring politely after the well-being of various partners or children or congratulating job advancements before escorting Greg away, a hand at the small of his back. Greg was certainly happier with him in the room. Nothing showy, nothing unprofessional, but a bit calmer and well-balanced. 

Greg was also more protective of his weekends, now, as Donovan and Dimmock were well aware. It was Hopkins, though, who found out, due to a particularly ill-timed murder that required Lestrade to be called in, that the two men had acquired a little weekend cottage. They planned to retire there, eventually, but until then, they went out to the country place as often as they could get away. It was an escape, although close enough to get back to the city if needed. As Greg was in this case. 

As the hours piled up and everyone kept working while talking about what they'd do when this never-ending investigation was finally over, Donovan nicknamed Greg's getaway the Fox Den. Not enough sleep made everyone silly sometimes, and these things just came out, and sometimes they stuck. It was shorthand, really, a reminder not to bother the boss in his den if they could avoid it, and that he wanted to get back to his country burrow. 

Then Mycroft heard about it. And because it made Greg laugh when he was proper and precise and old-fashioned, Mycroft had house stationery printed. Which Greg found when he opened the drawer of the desk, once they were finally able to get back to the cottage. 

His chuckles drew Mycroft into the library to see his reaction. (Mycroft had declared that the room with the desk and the books and the computer wasn't a home office, but a library, as they were both determined to break their lifetime bad habits of working too much.) 

"House stationery, Myc? We're not running a hotel. You expect us to have guests who stay long enough to need to write letters while they're here?" Greg teased to his partner as Mycroft entered the room. Written in elegantly lightweight cursive script, _La Tanière du Renard_ (the French was to honor Greg's heritage, Mycroft later said) was the heading at the top of the fine linen paper sheets, just under a line drawing of the cottage. The pages were accompanied by matching envelopes and a stack of similarly headed correspondence cards. 

"Our home will have **all** the amenities, Gregory, so long as I can provide them." Mycroft had come up behind him and stood close, resting his chin on his shoulder as his hands crept around Greg's waist. "There are note pads, as well, that you might find more useful. For the grocery lists you're always starting, perhaps." 

"Someday we're going to be able to stay long enough for me to do a proper roast, darlin'. With leftovers the next day." Greg closed the stationery drawer, but not before noticing the beautiful silver pen that was nestled next to the papers. "And since when does this place have a name?" 

"You'll have to talk to your staff about that." Mycroft had begun nuzzling at the back of Greg's neck. 

"Mycroft Holmes, we are both too old for 'they started it' as an answer!" Greg turned to face Mycroft, grinning in contrast to his words, and reached behind himself to draw the taller man's arms further around his back, completing the embrace. He stretched his neck, enjoying Mycroft's attentions, as he wrapped his own arms around his partner. 

"There is one more piece of this ensemble," Mycroft murmured into Greg's collarbone, with his eyes closed, "although not as obviously labeled." 

"Yeah? Will you show me before we're both distracted?" Greg's eyes had closed as well. 

"They're upstairs, which is rather convenient at this time." Mycroft raised his head and gently smiled at the love of his life in the home they were filling together. "Come with me." He broke the embrace and took Greg's hand to lead him into the main bedroom. 

There, Mycroft opened what Greg thought of as his jewelry case, although he would never say that aloud. Mycroft's finishing touches had led to any number of intimate conversations and shared jokes over the years, and Greg loved the variety of decorative pieces Mycroft kept safe and protected in velvet. 

He watched as Mycroft reached for something, then turned his hand over and displayed, on his open palm, a tie pin with a leaping fox in shining silver. Then Mycroft showed, in his other hand, the same pin, only the fox there was a coppery russet. 

"Oh, darlin'," Greg breathed. "Matching jewelry, what will people say?"

"Nothing, I hope," Mycroft responded drily, before his severe expression softened into a shy smile. "But I quite liked the idea of something we could share. You, I, and our home." 

Greg pecked a quick kiss on Mycroft's lips. "Can't believe I'm lucky enough to see you being so sentimental." Greg took the pins carefully from Mycroft's hands and set them on the dresser top so he could once again hug his partner. "Tomorrow, I'm using that stationery for thank-you notes to my team. They'll laugh their heads off. But tonight, I'm going to see how well your fox matches your pelt." He pulled back just enough to look Mycroft up and down, hungrily. 

Mycroft pinked slightly at the implication. "Perhaps, dearest, we might should keep the sharp objects away from our sensitive areas?"

"Aw, spoil my plans. But you're right, as always, genius. 'sides, I've got something else to prick you with." 

"Gregory, that is terrible." Mycroft's comments after that were cut off by Greg taking his mouth with his own, as the two playfully tickled each other onto the bed.

* * *

Greg wore the silver fox tie pin from then on whenever he needed encouragement or would be on camera. 

Greg's team did laugh at the stationery, although they secretly appreciated having a boss who was generous with gratitude and honest compliments and willing to put them in writing. 

The only downside was when Sherlock saw one of the letters on a desk at New Scotland Yard. From then on, he insisted on referring to the house as the Fox's Lair, instead of the Fox's Den. Worse, the next time he was particularly annoyed at Mycroft, he pilfered one of the cards and sent it, anonymously, back to the house with a single line lifted from Wikipedia inscribed. It read, "The testes of red foxes are smaller than those of Arctic foxes." 

Mycroft laughed and, in a particularly good mood, suggested to Greg that they take a bath together and compare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering what the letterhead looked like: 

**Author's Note:**

> Previously [started on Tumblr](https://johannadc.tumblr.com/tagged/mystrade-drabble), these fashion drabbles are here because I read the post about this site being an archive and decided to follow through.
> 
> If you'd like to read them chronologically, here's the rough order:  
> Chapter 1: Ties - The beginning of an interest  
> Chapter 7: Wallet - Dinner together  
> Chapter 4: Jumper - First night together  
> Chapter 5: Sleeve garters - A morning after  
> Chapter 8: Sock garters - Becoming comfortable  
> Chapter 2: Weekend wear - Spending the weekend together  
> Chapter 9: Christmas suit - Meeting the parents  
> Chapter 3: Tie pin - Anniversary  
> Chapter 10: Stationery - Settled in together
> 
> Bonus chapter 6: Sherlock's scarf - Can fit in anywhere

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Mycroft in Costume](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28927701) by [trillian_jdc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillian_jdc/pseuds/trillian_jdc)




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